


Dim Dream

by slagmaker



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, onesided feelings, unanswered praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 20:56:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slagmaker/pseuds/slagmaker
Summary: Prowl keeps searching for signs it means something more.





	Dim Dream

**Author's Note:**

> ever since sins of the wreckers i've been thinking about onesided prowl/optimus.

It always happened with a wordless invitation.

A gaze towards Prowl, heated intention behind it, the supreme commander of the Autobots's body language not authoritative but a subtle display of temptation. It was obviously only between the two of them, of course, no other bot privy to this part of their leader.

Prowl was certain of that. Whatever this was, it was between the two of them. He had to be certain of that. That Optimus kept coming to him because he had a need, an illogical irrational need for it to be him, even if it was only his choice of who to sate his needs with.

_Does he keep telling himself that is all it is, too?_

Prowl knows it is irrational, this guilty need of his to have Optmus look at him, to be in the centre of his thoughts, even if only during this... Optimus does not retract his face plates throughout the entire act, but there is praise under his fingers as he caresses Prowl's frame, as he leads Prowl to the berth in the commander's private quarters. 

Prowl reclines and splays his legs, opens up, shamelessly wet from the borderline chaste physical contact. 

_It's because it's you. It can only be you_

A pair of fingers slide between his thighs, opening himself up, displaying biolights that pulsate with arousal. No audial response, no emotion on his faceplates to read, but Optimus releases his spike.

Stroking himself to fullness, his optics gaze on Prowl as he presents himself for him.

Still no words, but he comes closer, spike in hand and he aligns himself with Prowl's array. A moan finally escapes his processor as he starts to press himself inside, hands on Prowl's hips as the mech under him arches and gasps.

It doesn't take long before he is sheathed inside his closest subordinate. He knows how to set the rhythm, and finds it without unnecessary exchanges.

Hard and steady, but not greedy. Not selfish. And yet, Prowl keeps seeking for the truly desperate and needy within his commander's touches and movements, as he pushes deeper and harder, yet with a sense of distance, a sense of control.

_I want you to want me_

_I want you to need me_

_ want you to see me_

Prowl feels himself being pushed closer and closer towards overload with each heavy push of his commander's hips, his heavy frame only held still by his hands grilling his hips.

When the moment of overload finally hits he can believe it, that Optimus needs and wants and loves him and that it makes no sense and that it doesn't need to.

Then it slowly ebbs down and the sense of distance tries to come back. But Prowl tries to keep chasing it, tries to catch Optimus' gaze as he returns to fucking him again, tries to see something he doesn't want to be a projection.

Optimus overloads inside him, hot bursts of fluid filling him up, and he moans between gritted teeth behind his faceplate. 

_How did you feel in the moment of release?_

_Did you see me?_

_Was your processor filled with nothing but thoughts of how you need me closer than anything in the universe?_

As his spike stops twitching and depressurises, Optimus pulls out. Prowl feels transfluid trickle out of his valve, the feeling of debauchery lingering sweetly. He wants the post-interface intimacy too, the exchange of fond words, the need to be praised...

"Optimus"

Prowl tries to catch his optics but Optimus has already left the berth.   
He would be heading for his private washracks a few metres away.

_to clean yourself off, of not just the physical? is that it?_

His broad back was now turned to him, no invitation for words or actions.

Prowl knew he would always keep looking at that back.


End file.
